


when we look upon death

by asterismal (asterisms)



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Timelines, Harry Potter & Tom Riddle Attend Hogwarts Together, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-05
Updated: 2019-10-05
Packaged: 2020-11-24 15:30:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,305
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20909933
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/asterisms/pseuds/asterismal
Summary: “You’re afraid of it.”“You aren’t?”Harry and Tom go to a Ghost Party and have feelings about it





	when we look upon death

**Author's Note:**

  * For [wynnebat](https://archiveofourown.org/users/wynnebat/gifts).
  * In response to a prompt by [wynnebat](https://archiveofourown.org/users/wynnebat/pseuds/wynnebat) in the [October_Flash_Fest_Part_One](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/October_Flash_Fest_Part_One) collection. 

> **Prompt:**
> 
> Harry and Tom attend a ghost’s death day party.

“We can leave, you know,” Harry says, “If you want.”

He’d invited his boyfriend to Nearly Headless Nick’s deathday party because he thought the other boy might find it interesting. Obviously he was mistaken. At his offer, Tom frowns at him. He crosses his arms then appears to think better of it, letting them hang limply at his side. 

Harry just watches as he fidgets. He’s never seen Tom so unsettled before. 

It’s fascinating. 

“We couldn’t possibly,” Tom says as he finally settles on keeping his hands in his pockets, “It’d be rude.”

Harry hums in thought as he turns to take in the party. All around them, ghosts are mingling, telling exaggerated stories about their deaths and sharing wistful tales they can only half remember about their living years. 

Honestly, Harry could drag Tom out the door right now, and they probably wouldn’t even notice.

But he doesn’t.

“If I knew you’d be this uncomfortable, I wouldn’t have insisted you come tonight.”

“Uncomfortable?” Tom asks, and he actually sounds offended by the possibility, “What makes you think I’m uncomfortable?”

Harry pokes his arm, confirming what he already knows. Tom is tense, as if he’s prepared to run. Harry does his best to stifle a snort.

“Well,” he says, “for one, you’re not as good at looking relaxed as you think you are.”

“Excuse you.” Tom turns his anxious gaze away from the ghosts to glare down at him. “I’ll have you know that am an _ excellent _ actor.”

“So you admit you’re putting on an act?”

“That’s not what I said.”

Harry moves closer. Leans in to rest his shoulder against the other boy’s arm. 

“It’s not so bad, you know.” Tom looks confused, so Harry elaborates with a cheerful grin. “Not being perfect, I mean.”

Tom scoffs and asks, “Have you considered that maybe I just don’t feel the _ need _ to pretend around you?” 

It’s a nice thought, but Harry refuses to let himself be derailed so easily. 

“Oh, please,” he says, laughing as he digs his elbow into Tom’s ribs. The other boy hisses in protest, but he doesn’t move away. “We both know _ that’s _ not true.”

Tom looks away then, and although it’s difficult to tell in the dim lighting, Harry thinks he might be blushing. 

Harry waits for Tom to say something suitably charming and infuriating, like he always does whenever Harry insinuates that he might just know Tom well enough to see beyond all those walls he has up, but the other boy stays silent. He’s gone back to watching the ghosts with wary interest, and Harry takes a moment to just look at him, to track the way the candlelight plays across the panes of his face and makes his dark hair shine. 

Then he breaks it.

“Anyway,” he says, “we were talking about how uncomfortable you are.”

Tom sighs at him.

“Is that what we were doing?”

Harry frowns sternly, placing his hands on his hips as he does his best to channel Mrs. Weasley.

“Tell me what’s wrong,” he says. 

“There’s nothing to tell.”

Alright, then. Time to be more direct.

“Why do the ghosts bother you so much?” he asks, keeping a careful eye on Tom’s expression.

Tom looks at him, open surprise on his face before he manages to hide again. For all that the other boy perfected the art of keeping up a mask years ago, Harry can track the choice he’s making in the tension in his shoulders, the way his stance shifts just enough that he can lean into Harry’s space. 

“It’s not the ghosts,” Tom finally says. He looks down to meet Harry’s watchful gaze before his eyes flit away again. “Or, it’s not just them.”

As if to reward him for sharing, Harry wraps one arm through Tom’s, pulling him even closer than before. He feels it when some of the tension leaves the other boy’s frame. 

“It’s death, isn’t it,” he says.

It isn’t a question. 

Tom has always been preoccupied with death. He doesn’t talk about it, not really. But he talks _ around _ the subject often enough that Harry has noticed the gaps, the empty spaces where fear has taken root. He wonders if anyone in Tom’s usual crowd has noticed too.

He hopes they haven’t.

“Yes,” Tom finally admits, just as Harry is starting to think he’ll say nothing at all. 

“You’re afraid of it.”

“You aren’t?” 

Harry takes a moment to consider. Is he afraid of death?

“Not really,” he finally settles upon, and the answer is true for all that it feels inadequate. He gestures toward the ghosts, to the way they laugh and dance along to the awful tune they’re playing. “How could I be?”

“Will you come back, then?” Tom asks.

Harry frowns. 

He thinks of Sirius, laughing as he slipped beyond the veil. “No,” he says, “I don’t think so.” 

“Then why—”

“I asked about it, you know. Once.” Tom stills beside him, listening carefully. “When Sirius died, I asked Nick if he’d come back. He didn't, of course.” 

“Harry…”

“I was angry. I mean, I still needed him, didn’t I? But it wasn’t about me, and this isn’t the existence he wanted.” Harry leans his head against Tom’s shoulder, smiling when Tom shifts to pull him even closer. “I don’t want it either.”

They stand there in silence, letting the full weight of Harry’s words sink in. Harry almost thinks that’s the end of it, but then Tom’s grip on him tightens. When he looks, he sees a new light in the other boy’s eyes, something he’s only ever caught glimpses of.

“What if you didn’t need to die?” Tom asks, his voice deceptively light. 

“If I— What?” Tom pulls away, moves to stand before him and grip his upper arms, crowding Harry into the column at his back. Harry laughs because he doesn’t know what else to do. “Tom, that’s impossible.”

“What if it isn’t?” 

“Everything dies.”

Something like triumph flares in the other boy’s eyes.

“Not everything,” he says, and Harry doesn’t even want to begin thinking about what that might mean. 

“You—” Harry shakes his head. “No. This is ridiculous, Tom.” 

“You won’t even consider it?”

_“No,”_ Harry says, “I _won't,_ because it’s absurd and impossible and _ unnatural!” _

On the last word, his voice rises. He cuts himself off before he can draw any undue attention. 

Tom’s expression has hardened again.

_"Everything _ dies eventually, Tom.” He pulls the other boy closer, until they’re standing chest to chest and he can see the way his pulse beats against the skin of his neck; it’s faster than it should be. He’s angry. “That’s the way it is. You can’t change it just because you’re afraid.”

Tom clenches his jaw.

“You’re going to die someday—” he begins.

“Yes, because the alternative _ isn’t possible.”_

“—and you refuse to come back as a ghost.” Tom looks down at him and raises one hand to brush his fingertips across Harry’s cheek. His touch is so light, Harry barely feels it. “You’d truly leave me so easily?”

Harry reaches up to hold Tom’s hand in his own, lacing their fingers together.

“I would,” he says, and he means it. Tom closes his eyes, flinches as if Harry’s words were a physical blow. He lets out a slow, shuddering breath. “But I’m not dead yet. _ We’re _not dead yet.”

He presses a chaste kiss to Tom’s lips and smiles when Tom sways forward, leaning into his touch. 

“Isn’t this enough?” he asks. If his question sounds more wistful than he intended, it’s too late to take it back now.

Tom’s grip on his hand grows tight. 

“I suppose,” he says. He pulls Harry into another kiss, just as soft for all that his nails cut into Harry’s hand, one slip away from drawing blood. “For now.”


End file.
